


The Haunting of Kogane Manor

by AmphitriteHeraG



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Bonding, Ghost Lance (Voltron), Human Keith (Voltron), Inheritance, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is a sassy ghost, Lance is a supportive friend, M/M, Orphan Keith (Voltron), becoming friends, developing feelings, keith is very confused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 06:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30067806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmphitriteHeraG/pseuds/AmphitriteHeraG
Summary: Keith Kogane moves into the luxurious estate left to him by his late mother, only to discover a charming ghost named Lance playing the grand piano. Lance promises to help Keith figure out the secrets of his mother's life, and Keith promises to show Lance all the things he's wanted to see. It doesn't take long for them to develop a friendship, and to their own surprise, feelings for each other.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Haunting of Kogane Manor

The air in the old sedan was stuffy as he drove down a narrow, uneven driveway. The fall leaves coated the ground but it wasn’t hard to imagine how grand the circular pathway would look in the summer or the spring, when the cobblestone ground was visible and shining in the sun. Although Keith had to admit the leaves were quite pretty now that they were red and orange, falling all around him as he drove.

With a wide turn he was finally able to park his car at the front and center of the massive driveway. The nerves he had been trying to push down the entire trip were really taking a toll on him now, making themselves more and more known each time he tried to reach for the handle on the driver’s side door. He swallowed thickly, trying to calm himself down a bit, to practically no avail. He knew he would have to go inside at some point, and there was no real sense in hiding in his smelly car forever. Still, though, the thought of getting out and entering the mansion was terrifying; why, he didn’t know. But the feeling was there, lingering in the air and forcing itself back into his lungs every time he took a breath. Why did this have to be so hard? Was he scared of what he was going to find? How was he supposed to feel, looking at the old house where his mother had made memories with her new family, happy and sad, pleasant and not, but all unmistakably real, unlike Keith’s? Keith’s memories with his mother were all just one elaborate fantasy, one big made up tail he created so he could fall asleep at night when he was alone. It was all he had to get him through life; the thought of his mother singing him to sleep when he was afraid, or laughing with him over breakfast as he shared his wild dreams. It was all he had. But not those kids. Not her new ones, the ones she liked. They didn’t have to pretend. They didn’t have to rely on their imaginations, their far-fetched fantasies of their own mother to get them through the days, and even more so the nights, as they slept next to a random kid in a cold bed in a too-quiet room in a temporary holding center for foster kids who were in between families. No, because they really had their mother; Keith’s mother.

He didn’t know what to expect, and frankly he was a little scared of how he would inevitably feel having to see the remnants of his late mother’s life with her loved ones. Sure, her children had by now taken down all the family pictures and trinkets that had been collected over the years. They had boxed up all the important things that left any real evidence of a family living together in this house, Keith was sure. But what about the things they couldn’t remove? What about the bright red, sloppily painted doorway he was staring at right now? His mother loved the color red. What about the big sunflower carved into the black kitchen cabinets above the stove that he had seen in the pictures? He didn’t know the story for that one, and he never would. It wasn’t his story, after all.

There were so many parts of him that screamed ‘turn around, drive away!’, but he didn’t. He didn’t because he was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, and incredably broke. And no matter how much pain the mere thought of this house caused, it was still an incredibly nice estate that was all his, and it beat living in his dumb car by a long shot.

So, Keith got out. It happened fast, so fast he couldn’t even feel himself reaching for the door handle, but before he knew it he was out of the car and staring up at the mansion in front of him.

It had a spooky quality about it, honestly, but what house this massive wouldn’t? The wrap around porch in front of him was accessible only by the multiple sets of tall stairs, white to match its railing, which sported short white pillars every few feet, topped with large vases filled to the brim with bright pink flowers. The windows white as well,and placed one after the other, lining the walls from top to bottom, all the way up to the third floor. The shutters around them were dark green and very old-timey looking, but pretty cool nonetheless. The house was coated in a beautiful bright red brick, with carefully planted ivy surrounding the windows on the bottom floor. The third floor was much smaller looking (probably an attic, Keith thought) and acted also as a roof. It was a light brown brick, unlike the red below it, and sported more oval shaped windows with no shutters. Connected to the left of the main house was a beautiful walkway with walled windows, almost like a sunroom, that allowed you to see inside. It connected the main house to the green house, that from far away just looked to Keith like a big, blindingly shiny blob of emerald. To the right was what looked to Keith like a private study, separated from the main house for privacy. Directly in front of his face was a row of large shrubs, carefully trimmed to look like, what Keith assumed, were chess pieces, with white marble benches in front of them. Behind the shrubs was a niche, containing another shrub, or maybe a bonsai tree, in the shape of a woman draped in a cloth. Beside her were two more statues of women, though much smaller, and marble to match the benches.

The house was undeniably beautiful, laced in the history of the families before his own. Maybe that’s why Keith got such an uneasy feeling looking at the place. Not a scared feeling, but one of curiosity. Something about the house, the whole estate really, felt more than foreign. It was unknown, in a sense greater than just not having lived there. It was a strange place, that was obvious. But Keith was notorious for ending up in strange places, and once again it was because of his mother.

So, with a sigh he started up the left staircase towards the entrance of the house. It certainly didn’t feel as exhilarating as it should, walking up to  _ your  _ brand new multi million dollar mansion (seven million dollars, to be exact), but it was happening. He was walking up the stairs and that was farther than he expected to get. The walk alone, though, was already causing the familiar feeling of anxiety to bubble in the pit of his stomach. Why were there so many? How was he even gonna handle living in this monster of a house? He knew the upkeep was handled (a sum of money received alongside the house, accessible in bits through the years to pay for landscaping and housekeeping), but that wasn’t what bothered him; not right now, at least. No, that wasn’t it. Right now, honestly, he was scared. Keith liked to think he was okay these days at being honest with himself, and if he was being honest with himself right now, he was worried about living alone in this big house. Moving into a big ol’ mansion was always a bad move in horror movies, which Keith watched religiously. Who’s to say this place wasn’t haunted? Or homing squatters in the attic? Hell, it could be both for all he knew. With the endless amount of rooms, it would be hard for Keith to ever feel like he was truly alone, which he was  _ not _ okay with. Maybe Shiro and Adam could move in with him. Or maybe Pidge! Offer her a workshop all to herself, which Keith definitely had space for, and she would come running. Yeah, maybe he would do that.

And now Keith had been standing in front of the tall double door, stalling for as long as he could before taking a deep breath and just doing it.

He swung the doors open and squinted as he surveyed the contents of the large, open kitchen. The cabinets were black and sleek but the rest of the room was more old fashioned, with sandy colors and tan marble countertops. The island spread across most of the kitchen, housing coushned, fancy barstools with small, dark green pillows resting atop them. Across from the cooking space was a long, black wooden table with a velvet green table runner to match the pillows. Behind the table was a beautiful, white bay window with a dark red and green topper. It was a great place to drink coffee in the morning, Keith thought. Going by the pictures Keith saw of the house, this wasn’t the formal dining table, but the breakfast nook, that were apparently usually in kitchens. Rich people were so weird. Who needs multiple tables for each meal? Why can’t you just eat in one place?

But, regardless of the confusion, the kitchen had been a surprisingly peaceful sight. It had lots of natural light, and looked pretty modern for a house so traditional. Keith thought he would see all sorts of markings on the walls from the growth of his mother’s children, cracks in the walls from the years of memories, stains on the couch or dents on the table. But there was nothing. Not even the sunflower carving appeared on the kitchen cabinet. Was it ever even there in the first place, or was he just imagining it?

It was surprising, but not really unnerving, the way the house seemed so clean and untouched. It wasn’t how Keith imagined it, but maybe it was better that way. At least he didn’t have to worry about those negative emotions resurfacing everytime he walked around his own house. Well, his kitchen at least. There were still the rest of the rooms to look through.

Keith allowed his feet to carry him from his comfortable spot in the kitchen through the tall archway that led into the living area. To his surprise, the living room was very different from the kitchen. It was much more fitting for such an old house, with dark red curtains covering the long expanse of wall to wall windows. The floors were covered with a gorgeous patterned carpet, and the room was lit by the tall, old fashioned lamps in the corners of the room. The couch was a dark satin, and the end tables were dressed in short, red table runners. The part of the room that really caught his eye, though, was the grand piano in the right hand corner of the room. The bench had a tall back and sported small, fluffy pillows with tassels. To his surprise, it looked recently used, the top up and the pillows sunken to a certain extent.

He wondered if his mother played the piano.

Keith tried to ignore the icky feeling he got thinking that this was a part of his mother’s life. That just as the kitchen made him feel safe, he would be hit with remnants of the woman’s life without him, and the further he went as he explored the house, the more he would discover about the family that was never his.

Stop. He needed to stop. Spiraling was never good, and he was so tired that if thoughts kept him awake tonight he would probably cry. Then again, were better to cry than a posh mansion with a wine cellar? Hell, there was probably a fancy robe lying around here somewhere.

Keith let out a long sigh. Let’s not go down that road, he decided. Instead, he kept his chin up and chose to go to bed early, after a long drive up to the old estate. Tomorrow he would finish exploring the place, and hopefully get a look at the guest house and the fancy gardens (yes, multiple of them) too.

- - -

Okay, so Krolia had abandoned Keith as a small child and started a new family with a successful man and lived a posh life while Keith bounced around the system, ultimately becoming homeless and living in his car, in the parking lot of his fulfilling job at Dollar Tree. Big deal, am I right?

Truly, all was forgiven now. Why?

Because mommy dearest left Keith a  _ king size bed _ with  _ satin sheets _ . He could cry. He probably is crying right now, to be honest.

With a flop, Keith snuggled into his new bed. The pillows were large and comfortable, and the sheets were nice and warm. He. Could. Cry. And he could  _ definitely _ live here.

- - -

That is, if he weren’t currently lying in his comfortable bed, scared shitless. Keith had been awoken a few minutes ago to the sound of the grand piano playing downstairs. He fucking knew it. Squatters. Squatters that played the piano at night o’clock at night and were very good. What a weird way to go, he thought.

“Okay, Keith. Don’t be a little bitch baby. This is your house, and you bench 210. You’re a badass.” This was stupid. He couldn’t go downstairs. “Let’s fuckin’ go.” And yet here he was, going downstairs.

His footsteps were large and quiet, but quick because  _ what if someone was following him _ ? The closer he got to the source of the noise, the more creeped out he got because this person was really, really good. Like, classically trained good. Who breaks into a house, or worse, hides away in a house, to play the piano like a god? Oh gosh, Keith was going to be murdered. This was all a huge spiel to get him downstairs so some group of maniacs could sacrifice him to their goat leader or something like that, wasn’t it? If he could just get his dumb legs to stop moving he could run back upstairs and call the police. But he felt so… drawn to the sound. The soft, yellow light of the lamps illuminated the living room as he turned the corner. And there, playing the grand piano, was a man. Not a scary man, no. A delicate man, with soft features and big, blue eyes that looked lovingly down at the keys his fingers tapped away at. His lips were slightly parted in concentration, but the smile he wore was still very much there. His tongue poked out very slightly, which Keith thought made him look very smug. Keith also noticed, finally, his clothes. The boy wore rolled up tan slacks, held up by brown suspenders. His shoulders which moved gracefully along with his hands, held up a lost white t-shirt that was tucked into his pants. The outfit was very retro, Keith thought, quite amused.

Amused? This dude broke into his house and was probably luring him to his death!

“Hey!”, he shouted, before he had time to really rationalize. The man stopped his playing abruptly, which disappointed Keith in a way he didn’t understand, and made him feel much less safe around the man as he did before.

He looked up at Keith, now, with his lips parted in shock, his hand grasping his own chin in shock, a mannerism Keith had never really seen in anyone before. It was cute.

Okay, what? Probable murderer here, Keith.

“I-I already called the police,” he lied, throat dry and confidence almost completely gone. “So you can just get out of here!”

There was a moment of silence between the two that lasted what felt like hours, but was probably only a few seconds.

“You can see me?”, the man finally spoke. His head tilted to the side and his eyes squinted in confusion.

“What?” Keith rasped. “Look, dude, I don’t want any trouble-”

“You  _ can _ see me?” the man cut Keith off. “Oh, I see!” he exclaimed, confusion replaced with excitement. “Are you dead?”

Keith’s head was definitely spinning now. Was he himself spinning? He felt like he might be.

“Wh-wha- dead?” he shouted. What kind of sick mind game was this? He was definitely part of a cult ritual or some shit right now.

“So… no?” the stranger questioned, drawing out the  _ no _ . To Keith’s surprise, he had a genuine look of disappointment on his face. “Then, what  _ are  _ you?”

“Excuse me?” Keith gaped. What the hell was this? Was he seriously being interrogated in his own home? On the first night?!

“Are you like a medium or somethin’ spooky like that?” the man was standing up now, slowly making his way over to Keith. His head was tilted once again, this time in concentration as he examined Keith.

“Some sort of paranormal investigator? Oh, oh! You’re the guy from Buzzfeed Unsolved! I saw you on the television once. Where’s the tall guy? Trouble in paradise?” The man was closer now, smile back on his face but clearly still skeptical, looking Keith up and down in examination.

“What?” Keith choked out, backing away now from the intruder in front of him.

“No?” the man sighed. “Then who are you?”

And before Keith had a chance to really think, he was answering with a small, timid “Keith.”

Great, now he knows your name, idiot.

“Keith,” the man taped his chin in thought. “I know that name.”

He knows that name? Oh God, Keith was being stalked to?

“Oh! You’re Krolia’s son.” he smiled.

Krolia? How did this guy know his mother? The floor felt uneven underneath him. This was too much for one day. First he moves into his mother’s old house, and now he's talking to someone who knew her? And for some reason, knew him?

“How did you know my mother?” he questioned, hands gripping his own thighs with painful force. He felt like if he didn’t hold on to something, hold onto himself, he would fall through the ground or float up into the ceiling.

“You could say we were… housemates of sorts,” the stranger explained.

Housemates? Keith was never told anything about a housemate. Was this guy lying to him? Was he in danger? Or was he simply a name lost in translation? Maybe he really was a housemate. Keith doubted his mother and her family would ever need to take in a roommate for financial reasons, but perhaps the man was a live-in employee of some kind. He knew there was plenty of staff employed to take care of the estate, ranging from gardeners to maids. Maybe this guy was one of them. Or even an assistant of his mother or one of her older children.

“Do you… work here?” Keith questioned.

Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding and Keith just accused an innocent employee of trying to kidnap and sacrifice him in a cult ritual. Well, not in so many words.

“No, no, not me, friend.” the man smirked, leaning on the end table behind him. “I’m more of a complimentary bother. You know, the works. Moving stuff around, stealing food, all the normal stuff a ghost does when he gets bored,” he shrugged, picking up the unlit candle behind him and taking a large bite out. “Oh, God,” he grimaced, spitting out the chunks of wax onto the floor. “Forgot what that was.”

Was Keith running? He felt like he should be running right now, but for some reason he was not doing that. A freaking ghost?! This could not be real. Keith may have been a major conspiracy theorist, but this was just all too much for him.

“You okay there, pal? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” the man smirked. “Alright, not a joke fan. I get it.”

“A ghost?” Keith all but shouted.

“Okay, I know, it’s a little hard to believe.”

“It’s very hard to believe!”

“Well, I don’t know how to prove it to you, pal! What, you think ghosts are spooky little table cloths with eye holes? Or, or, or see through people who can’t touch anything? Cause I got news for you, buddy. I’m just like you. Well, except no one can see me. Except you, apparently. Which, by the way, how are you doing that?”

“What are you talking about!”

“Buddy, Keith, can I call you Keith? Keith, listen carefully. I. Am. A. Ghost. I don’t know how to- Oh! I can’t die! Want me to jump out the window or somethin’?”

“Wha- no!” Keith shrieked.

“Too late!” the man laughed, already quickly making his way to the stairs.

“No!” Keith screamed. This guy was clearly unhinged! Did he really think he was a ghost?

The two men sprinted up the stairs, one mischievously chuckling, the other breathing heavily, trying to grab onto the former’s clothes. 

“You’re gonna kill yourself!” Keith shouted.

“I’m already dead!” the man laughed, flinging himself forward as he finally reached the third floor. The attic was dark and fairly dusty, but large with tall ceilings. The emptiness of the place made it appear even larger. After all, everything had been boxed up and taken away when his mother’s new family moved away.

“Look, look, don’t do this. Just, think about what you’re doing. Let’s just go downstairs and call someone who can help you,” Keith pleaded.

“I’m not crazy, Keith,” the man smiled, opening one of the large oval windows.

“Stop!” Keith yelled, lunging forward to grab the man. But before he could get a hold of him, the stranger was flinging himself forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Keith’s hands clung to his face, shielding his eyes from the aftermath of what just occurred before him. He stumbled backwards blindly, tripping on a loose board and falling onto his butt.

“Oh my God, oh God, oh my gosh,” he gasped. What just happened?

Keith just watched a man literally jump to his death. What was he gonna do? Should he run down and help? No, he definitely couldn’t have survived that. Did he call the police? That was probably the best thing to do right now. Would they think Keith did it? What if he was arrested for murder? Oh God. Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh. How could he have let that happen? That poor man just-

“Hey Keith!” a voice called from beyond the window. Keith flung himself forward, arms clutching the lining of the window, stopping him from flying right out of it.

And now Keith was ready to pass out, because right in front of him was the man, standing in the middle of the circular patch of grass below him, arms stretched wide. He was completely unfazed, not one scratch on him, smiling like an idiot.

Yeah, now was the time to pass out.

And that Keith did.


End file.
